“Billy’s first Calvins”
A mismatched plate of lukewarm casserole,
A Tupperware of salad, sealed and stacked.
My mother dragged me through another night
Of blurred geography and borrowed light—
An endless march of "aunties" without names,
And "cousins" whose inheritance was fixed,
Where poverty was kept out of the room,
Though sitting in the backseat, unbetrayed.
We ate our fill on unfamiliar chairs,
The chatter droned above my awkward frame—
Thirteen, and hyper-conscious of the gap
Between the things we had and didn't have.
And then the back doors opened to the night:
A glowing rectangle of chlorine blue,
Steam rising off the water, clean and deep.
"Go on," they said. "Jump in, the water’s fine."
I had no trunks. No branded boardshorts brought.
So down to standard cotton briefs I stripped—
No logos on the band, just stretched white thread—
And plunged into the warm, illuminated dark.
For twenty minutes, underwater, equalized,
Weights floated off; the light dissolved the shame.
Out on the deck, the night air turned me cold.
Inside the poolside change room, dripping wet,
Left on a bench beneath a halogen glow,
lay a pair of dropped Calvin Kleins.
My cousin’s, likely—neatly stitched and dark,
The sharp white block letterings sitting high:
CALVIN KLEIN. A small, woven decree.
I peeled away my sodden, nameless pair,
And pulled the damp black fabric up my thighs.
The waistband gripped my hips like heavy gold,
A secret armor underneath my clothes.
Standing there wet-haired on foreign tile,
Looking down at the letters on my waist,
I felt the sharp, cold quiet of a vow:
I’d never sit back in that dark again,
I’d never eat the scraps of charity,
I’d never, ever in my life be poor.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 2nd, 2026 05:00
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Kevin Hulme, Tristan Robert Lange
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Comments5
A poetic vow made over the sacrificial fire of shame. Having less than those around you sensitizes a child to what it means to have and often burns in a desire to acquire so as to never feel that lack again. This write puts all this in perspective of a tale of childhood. Nicely written my friend
Indeed, from a certain perspective it is so! To know lack is quite a motivator for those on that particular journey. 🙏🏻🕊️
And on the other end not always but a lot those that have become lazy
nicely written piece my friend, childhood traumas live with us
That it does. Thank you, my friend 🙏🏻🕊️
most welcome
There was a Fashion sometime back, when People would have the top of their Shorts sticking up over the trousers, so people could see the Brand Name. 🤔. I can relate to this Poem. In the Past I'd look at Someone with envy for what they had. But there's a flip side: Maybe Someone looked at us in the same way.
An enjoyable Read. A fave.
Yeah, sometimes it takes a bit of knocking some sense into each other. 🙏🏻🕊️
Good write A.
Thanks O.
arqios, this is one hell of a poem. The shame, longing, and fierce determination of that thirteen-year-old hit with tremendous force…deeply human and painfully honest, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
How the other half live is such a potent coming of age challenge. 🙏🏻🕊️
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